


Thunderstruck

by njgirl0976



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sorry about that no Dean thing), Actual Violence, Angsty Sam WInchester, Backstory, Drama, F/M, Implied Violence, Mentally abuse douchebag husband, No Dean Winchester, Oral sex (of course), Sex (of course), Sexy English heroine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njgirl0976/pseuds/njgirl0976
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes off on Dean after being lied to again. In his travels, he comes across Branna Hayes, who he hasn't seen since they took out a pack of vila 5 years prior. He's different. She's different. Everything's different. The only thing not different? Them.</p><p>Read "Shook Me All Night Long" about Sam and Branna's first meeting here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1610807/chapters/3430193</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam hunched over his beer. The bar around him was darkish and noisy, but it was easy to lose himself in some place so darkish and noisy. The bartender had taken the hint that conversation was the last thing Sam wanted to do, leaving him to drink his beers in peace.

Dean had killed Amy. Not just killed her, but killed Amy and lied about it. Lying isn’t a new trait to the Winchesters, but this lie hurt a little more than the others. Amy Pond had been Sam’s friend, one of his only friends. She had saved Sam from certain death at the hands of her kitsune mother. And Dean had killed Amy in cold blood after assuring Sam he hadn’t hurt her at all.

The pain Sam felt was so tangible, both bar stools on either side of him were empty. It was a long night and there was nothing to do. Nothing to do except drink himself into an oblivion. Sam was definitely going through a phase where nothing mattered and everything could go fuck itself.

Sam was ordering his fifth beer when he realized that someone was walking directly up behind him. The skin between his shoulder blades prickled in anticipation of a fight or a conversation. A fight, he would welcome. A conversation, not so much.

“I know that hunch,” said a voice. The voice was husky, English-accented, and very female.

Sam jerked his head up as his eyes opened wide. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to be disappointed.

“Hello, Sam,” the voice said softly.

Sam turned in his seat. Standing there behind him was Branna Hayes. Sure, she was five years older and her right eyebrow was split with a scar, but it was her. The last time Sam had seen Branna Hayes, she was laying in a hospital bed in a little town in Iowa. She smiled at him. Her hair was brown now, wavy to her shoulders. Sam felt a little twinge of regret that all that wild black hair was gone.

“Look at all that hair,” Branna commented next. “How are you, Sam?”

Sam’s tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth. Branna was still so pretty, despite the new hairstyle. She still had that amazing body and gone was the thick black eyeliner and many earrings, but it was still Branna.

“Hi,” he said finally. “You--you look amazing. How long has it been?”

“Five years,” Branna replied. “How are you?”

Sam shrugged. “You already asked me that.”

Branna fixed him with a stare. God, did he remember that stare.

“I know, dearest lad,” she said. “But you still didn’t answer.”

“I’m--uh--I’m okay,” Sam lied. “I’m a little drunk.”

“That’s all right, darling,” Branna smiled. “Everyone in here is a little drunk.” Branna looked around. “Where’s Dean? Hustling pool? Or a girl?”

Sam’s face immediately closed off. Branna’s first thought was that Dean was dead. She put her hand out and touched Sam on the arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “When did it happen?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam replied quickly.

“I understand,” Branna agreed just as quickly. She knew the deal: Don’t wanna discuss it, you don’t wanna know. “Look. Can I have a sit?”

Sam stammered. “Um … yeah … of course.”

Branna swung herself onto the barstool beside Sam. “Can I have two beers? And a gin and tonic?”

“A gin and tonic?” Sam asked as the bartender went for her order. “What’s that about?”

Branna tapped the neck of her bottle against Sam’s. “So. To history.”

Sam didn’t know how to respond to the toast so he just nodded. Taking a swig of his beer, Sam sighed, trying to put on a happy face.

“Whatcha been up to?” he asked.

Branna swallowed her beer. “Just hunting here and there across the middle states. I did a bit in California for a while but man, those people are weird. And pretentious. What about you?”

Sam hesitated. Amy Pond’s face flitted across his brain, but he shoved her memory away. “Huh. Same. Same. Same.”

“You seem different,” Branna said softly, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Is it because of Dean?”

Sam closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to talk about Dean killing Amy, but there was something in Branna’s face--the caring, the understanding--he wanted to confess it all, but Sam’s instinct was to not say a word.

“You here alone?” Sam changed the subject again.

Branna let the conversation take a new turn, barking out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Why? You want to take me to bed again?”

Sam’s mind flashed back to the times he and Branna had tumbled into bed together five years ago. He smiled ruefully, chuckling in the dirtiest way Branna had ever heard. A thrilling shiver went down her spine.

“Stop thinking about it, you nasty man,” Branna teased lightly. “I have a … partner now.”

“You? You have a partner?” Sam’s eyes went to the untouched gin and tonic in front of her on the bar.

“I know.” Branna sipped her beer. “It’s crazy, right? He’s at that table over there. He’s probably fuming, thinking about why I’m sitting here talking to the ridiculously handsome stranger at the bar when I should have delivered his gin and tonic by now.” Branna sneered out “gin and tonic” in a flat American accent. “Sam, you have to come sit with us.”

“I dunno,” Sam said doubtfully.

Branna slid her hand across Sam’s and locked her fingers through his. “Dearest lad,” she murmured. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer and I can’t let you sit here alone. You must, _must_ come sit with me.”

Sam couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. Not that face, not that voice, not that electricity generating through their linked fingers. “All right. Get your drink and we’ll go sit over there with your friend.”

“Oh, no.” Branna giggled, a noise that sounded very wrong to Sam’s ears. “Not friend: husband.”

Sam choked on his beer. “I’m sorry. You said what now?”

“Yeah. I’m still trying to process that myself.”

“How long have you been … married?” Sam’s tongue tripped over the word. His eyes dropped to Branna’s hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

“No, no. Neither of us do. It’s easier when you’re stalking a monster to not let them know that your spouse is there too as back-up and they’ll be murderous and pissed if you end up dead.”

The two old friends walked over to the table where Branna had left her husband. Sitting at the table was a short, not very attractive, thickly-set man. Sam easily towered over him by a good ten inches. Branna’s husband glared up at the tall, handsome Winchester then turned his glare at Branna, who cringed very briefly. Sam knew that Branna didn’t think he’d notice her change in posture.

“Who’s this?” the husband asked flatly, his voice betraying all of his emotions.

“This is my friend Sam,” Branna said as she sat down, sliding his drink across the table at him. “Sam Winchester. I’ve told you about him and his brother several times.”

“Oh, yeah,” the husband said, a sneer flitting across his lips. “Sam Winchester.” He took a sip from his drink. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Too much.”

Sam still stood over the table, enjoying the way that Branna’s husband had to crane his neck to look up at him. Hunters like this guy, with their ego and their bravado, always set Sam’s teeth on edge.

“So, what did you hear?” Sam asked, sitting down and purposely taking up half of the table.

“I heard you saved her ass this one time. I heard that if it weren’t for you and your brother, she woulda gotten her dumb ass killed by a bunch of bitchy monsters.” The husband took a drink of his gin and tonic and made a face. “You let the ice melt,” he said to Branna accusingly. He turned back to Sam. “That true?”

“That’s not entirely true, Rick,” Branna interrupted, sounding weary and annoyed. “I’ve told you the story a dozen times. We were _all_ in danger. We _all_ worked together--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.” The husband, Rick, waved his hand in front of Branna’s face to stop her talking. “Is it true?” he pressed Sam.

Sam gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed to deal with right now was a posturing little man, but a quick glance at Branna made Sam change his attitude. She looked so low, so beaten down, trying desperately to defend herself. No way was Sam going to let this jerk make her feel like shit.

“Well, it’s not totally untrue,” Sam said. “Uh … we all were in danger. They outnumbered us 10 to 3. But, uh, we took care of it and Branna was invaluable in ganking the head vila’s daughter.”

Branna looked at Rick. “I told you. Now. Will you believe me?”

Rick let out a short, exasperated sigh like this conversation had gone on for far too long. “I guess. Obviously, your old boyfriend isn’t going to make you look bad.”

Branna blushed. Sam looked over at her. Had she told Rick they’d slept together? No wonder the dude was so pissy. But then Sam realized that this attitude of Rick’s wasn’t just a front to make himself look better in front of another hunter. Sam was pretty sure this was his personality all the time.

“Where you guys passing through to now?” Sam asked next.

“We’re between jobs,” Rick said, leaning back in his chair, who protested creakily at the shift in weight. _Wow, this guy’s gut is huge,_ Sam thought. _How the hell does he out-run monsters?_ “We, uh, just took care of a ghoul that was trying to take over a town or two. It was pretty awesome.”

“Actually,” Branna corrected, leaning toward Sam, “it was one ghoul and it was one neighborhood and it was very easy to control. It was almost like practice, like a non-job.”

“I’m tellin’ a story here,” Rick snapped at her and Branna jerked away from Sam. “Why do you have to correct me?”

“I just didn’t think it was an accurate description of how easy the job was,” Branna said in a small voice.

“Shut up,” Rick snapped at her. Then he turned to Sam, his smile jovial but not reaching his eyes. Sam couldn’t believe how quicksilver this guy’s mood was. “Every hunting story is a big fish story, right, man? ‘There’s this one time I took down 50 werewolves all by myself’ kinda shit.”

Sam shook his head, glaring at Rick with hostile eyes. “I don’t embellish.”

Rick glared back. “Well, good for you. But when you’re hunting with a _chick_ ” Rick jerked his thumb at Branna’s, whose face went purple with rage but held her tongue “you gotta make your shit huge.”

“Obviously,” Branna said quietly, so only Sam could hear. “The only way your shit’s huge is if you embellish.”

Sam choked on his beer. Now _there_ was the Branna he remembered.

“What’d you say?” Rick demanded.

Branna smiled at him serenely. “Nothing, dear. I didn’t say a thing. As usual, I said nothing.”

Sam couldn’t believe it. Where was the fierce, sexy, and wild English girl he’d known 5 years ago? She was replaced by this cowed, meek, and scared little woman.

“Branna, wanna come with me? This round’s on me,” Sam said, getting up.

“God, yes,” Branna sounded relieved as she joined Sam.

“Don’t let my ice melt this time!” Rick yelled at them unnecessarily as the whole bar turned to stare.

Standing at the bar, waiting to order, Sam looked down at Branna, who refused to meet his gaze. He went to touch her hand, but she slipped it out of reach.

“Don’t,” she said softly, still not looking at him. “I know he’s watching us.”

Sam glanced in the bar mirror. Between the bottles on display, he could see Rick staring at the backs of Sam and Branna, just waiting for something to happen.

“What the hell, Branna?” Sam asked. “How did you end up with this asshole?”

“I know he seems a little … rough around the edges,” Branna began hesitantly, like she was searching for the right words, “but--”

“Branna, no,” Sam cut in. “I don’t think there’s any excuse for him. He’s just an asshole.”

“You don’t understand our situation, Sam,” Branna said.

“I guess not,” Sam agreed, accepting their drinks from the bar tender.

“Yeah … okay …” Branna’s voice was so quiet, Sam could barely hear her over the din in the bar. “I’m gonna go to the toilet. Tell him that, all right?”

Branna headed to the back of the bar. Sam watched her go. She still looked like Branna, sounded like Branna, and moved like Branna, but that wasn’t the girl he hunted vila with. He watched as men turned to look at her as she walked by them, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, refusing to notice them. Sam turned to head back to the table and saw Rick smiling, enjoying the guys checking out his wife. Rick caught Sam’s eyes and smirked even harder. He raised his glass to Sam in a mock-salute.

Sam did not return the gesture.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was still standing at the bar when Branna came back from the bathroom. He didn’t see what happened, but Rick’s voice pierced his veil of introspection. Rick obviously didn’t care that he was making a scene in the middle of the bar, berating his wife for some imagined slight.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Rick was saying, “talking to a perfect stranger about me like that? And then you flirted with that guy coming back from your piss? What the hell, Branna?”

“But I didn’t say anything--” Branna began, sounding desperate.

“Shut up!” Rick snapped, pointing directly at her face. Branna winced back. “I said, don’t talk about me. And sure as hell don’t flirt with some guy in front of me!”

Sam was done. He headed over to the table.

“Listen, if it wasn’t for me, you woulda been dead 5 years ago after that dick left you in Iowa. And you know it,” Rick was saying.

Sam stopped short. What did he just say?

“I would have been fine,” Branna argued.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Rick shot back.

“What about all those times I saved you?” Branna asked.

“Yeah, well, that was luck.”

Sam could feel Branna’s temper rise as her face got redder and redder. Man, she was still so hot when she got pissed.

 _Stop it,_ his brain chided him.

“No, I think you not getting killed before I came along was pure luck,” Branna snapped.

Rick suddenly got very still and very quiet. Sam knew that face. That was the same face John Winchester used to make right before he lost his shit completely. Rick put his finger in Branna’s face again. This time, though, she didn’t wince backwards. Sam’s heart thudded loudly as he watched Branna look down at her husband’s finger then back up into his face with a glare of such disdain, people at the next table looked away from the amusing fight.

“We’re in a public place. Can you not scream at me later at the motel?” Branna asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’ll be screaming later,” Rick promised her darkly.

That was it. Sam barreled over to the table, making his huge presence known.

“And since you little boyfriend is such a great hunter, maybe I should leave you home and take him with me to find that nest,” Rick was threatening when Sam reached the table.

“Oh, come on! I found the articles. I did all the research. I’m the one who found the nest. And you get to go kill everything while I’m sitting home, what? Darning your socks and keeping the home fires burning?” Branna was enraged.

Sam sat down and the two of them immediately stopped fighting.

“Yeah, well, that’s the way it goes,” Rick said to Branna before turning to Sam. “Hey, man,” he said cheerily, his whole attitude changed, “there’s a nest of newborns about 30 miles from here. You want in?”

“Sounds good,” Sam agreed grimly. He deliberately looked over at Branna. “You in?”

Rick made a rude noise as Branna went to answer him. She barely glanced Rick’s way as she answered Sam. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I guess you can come,” Rick sighed gustily like it was a topic that they all had been discussing. “You’re not on the rag, so you won’t attract them. Like last time.”

Branna turned on Rick in a rage. “I didn’t attract them last time, you imbecile. That was you, blundering around like a fucking hippo on a rampage.”

Sam barely held back his laughter at the fury on Rick’s face.

“C’mon,” Branna said finally, standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

The three of them left the bar. Sam followed Branna and Rick to their car, a blood red 1969 Chevy Camaro. Sam whistled at the sight of it.

“Nice car, Branna,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

“Got it off a werewolf,” Branna replied. “It’s a 69 Camaro with a restored 396/350 horsepower and a 4 speed tranny.”

“The color’s very … _you_ ,” Sam commented.

Branna glanced quickly at Rick, who was throwing stuff in the trunk, then back at Sam. “It used to be.”

Sam ran his hand over the body of the car before folding himself into the backseat. Branna shivered again as she watched Sam’s fingers caress the curves of her car. He was still so ridiculously handsome, even more now, with a gravitas that only came with years of hunting, loss, and pain. Branna could practically taste his torment. She didn’t know if it was fresh with the loss of Dean or something he’d carried with him for years.

Sam caught Branna’s eye. She was studying him with those dark chocolate eyes. He’d never felt more exposed than when her look caught his. It was like Branna could see right into his soul, however much soul he had left over the years.

The slamming of the truck broke their gaze and Branna got into the front seat. Sam’s presence was taking over the whole car. She could barely contain herself, knowing that he was back there. She wanted to leap over the seat and attack him, just to feel his arms around her again.

“Ready to go?” Rick asked nobody in particular as he started the car. He cranked up a country station, which made both Branna and Sam wince, and pulled out of the parking lot, grinding the gears slightly as he tried to shift.

“Rick. The car,” Branna said, her voice pained like he was hurting her and not the transmission.

“Jesus, I know,” Rick snapped. “Will you just shut up?”

“Man, stop telling her to shut up,” Sam finally snapped. “Is that all you can say to her?”

Rick glared at Sam in the rearview. “Why don’t you keep out of it?”

Sam sighed and leaned forward between the front seats. “If you tell Branna or me to shut up one more time, I’m gonna fucking end you. You got me?”

Rick cringed minutely. It was barely noticeable, but there it was. “Whatever, man.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sam replied, settling back into his seat.

Branna caught Sam’s eye in the side mirror. The look of thanks on her face nearly broke Sam’s heart. What had happened to her?

The motel they checked into was your typical roadside pit. Sam had stayed in worse. It felt weird throwing his bag onto the second bed, knowing Dean wasn’t going to be sleeping in it. He’d wanted to have a room or seven between his and Branna’s, knowing there was going to be a fight or two he wouldn’t want to hear, but the clerk behind the counter was a toothless halfwit who couldn’t grasp the idea of “far away from their room.” Sighing, Sam headed over to their room to check out the research on the newborns’ nest.

Branna was at the table with her laptop open and a few newspapers littered around her. Rick was laying on one of the beds, watching a basketball game.

“There might be an elder in the bunch, Rick,” she was saying. “It’s not just a splatter-fest like with regular newborns. There seems to be a pattern to the murders: first one rather random murder, then comes the really violent, bloody stuff.” Branna looked up from one of the newspapers. “Are you hearing me? Rick?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. I can’t help but fucking hear ya. Your voice is like a fucking foghorn,” Rick replied, sounding completely done with her.

Sam couldn’t believe that this guy wasn’t even interested in what Branna was telling him. Going half-assed into a hunt isn’t the way to do it. Even Dean could appreciate good recon and he was one of the most reckless--

Sam stopped the thought, swallowing hard. No need to think of Dean now. Focus on the job. Focus on the research. Branna looked up, smiling one of her sexy, teasing grins. Sam smiled back as he joined her at the table. Focus on the girl. Focus on that.

“Whatcha got?” Sam asked.

“So. Get this,” Branna said, turning the laptop toward him. She caught herself, blushing a little. Sam smirked but didn’t comment. “The first murder happened about a month ago. It was a hooker, right? No big deal. Just another dead hooker. Then suddenly, gore time. Four more dead hookers, all from the same escort service, each murder worse than the one before. As quick as it started, it stopped.” Branna clicked another tab, opening another story. “Then, 10 days after those killings stop, another dead escort in a totally different town from a different service. Same MO. Four more dead after the first. Totally mutilated bodies.”

“Why do you think there’s an elder?” Sam asked, reaching for the laptop. Their fingers touched and both of them reacted by jerking their hands away. Jesus, it was like being a virgin again. The idea of taking Branna’s virginity gives Sam pause for a moment, but he snaps back to reality when he realizes that Rick is blasting the basketball game, making it impossible to hear Branna’s voice.

“Rick! Do you mind?” Branna exclaimed. “We need to talk about this or we’re going to get slaughtered. Could you turn that down?” Rick purposely ignored her. Branna sighed gustily. “Either you turn that shit down or I’m going to Sam’s room with him. _Alone_.”

The TV magically turned down after that, Rick never taking his eyes off the screen. Sam and Branna exchanged a look, rolling their eyes.

“Why do you think there’s an elder?” Sam repeated himself.

Branna shrugged. “The first murders are so meticulous. Like a teaching lesson. ‘You bite here. You drink from here.’ The follow-up murders are more like little kids who are scribbling on walls with Crayons.” Branna reached under the table and pulled two bottles of beer out of a cooler. Handing one to Sam, she continued, “I think the elder keeps moving his nest from town to town because they keep fucking up.”  
  
“Newborns are notoriously hungry,” Sam commented.

Branna tossed hair over her shoulders. The long line of her neck disappeared into her thermal shirt. Sam followed it with his eyes, pausing for a moment to watch her pulse twitch. Branna tried to ignore his stare, but the intensity of his gaze was smothering. The room was quiet, except for the sound of Rick’s TV. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Rick had fallen asleep, mouth open, remote balanced on his round stomach.

“Branna,” Sam breathed, forcing her to look up at him from her computer.

“No, Sam,” Branna whispered back, ducking her head.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“He saved me,” Branna replied.

“From what?” Sam reached out, drawing her hand across the table to him.

Branna couldn’t meet Sam’s whiskey brown eyes. Her hand trembled in his. The soft caress of Sam Winchester’s huge hand made Branna’s stomach contract. How long had it been since someone had touched her so gently without wanting something in return?

Sam took her chin between his thumb and index finger and raised her eyes to his.

“From what, Branna?” he asked again.

“From myself,” Branna whispered back.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam groaned and rolled over. It had only been about 3 minutes since he’d last looked at the alarm clock, but sleep was definitely not coming. It had been a long night of research and discussion with Branna about their theories on the vamp nest. It had been an even longer night of _not_ discussing her marriage.

Rick had stayed asleep, so Sam had hoped that Branna would open up and explain what she’d meant by Rick had saved her from her, but Branna had instead launched into a deep and detailed monologue about vampires. The girl was a literal walking encyclopedia on vamps. After an hour and a half, Sam finally clapped his hand over her mouth.

“Please,” he’d begged. “Please stop. We’re not getting anywhere. Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Do you want to know why I became a hunter?” Branna asked from behind Sam’s hand.

Now _that_ was more like it. Sam removed his hand, leaning back in his chair. Branna leaned forward, hunching over the table. She took a long, deep breath and began:

“When I was 17, I went on a camping trip with my boyfriend and our two friends. I wasn’t supposed to go, of course--not proper in the least bit--but I was trying out this whole rebellion thing, so I went. There weren’t too many place to actually camp in--” Branna paused and looked at Sam “--my hometown, so we had to drive a bit. When we finally stopped driving and settled down, we were about 3 hours from home. We got to drinking and laughing and having some fun before our friends decided it was time for a little midnight fuck in the wood. They went off and left me and my boyfriend alone. We hadn’t started having sex yet, so it was really awkward, just sitting there and staring at each other.”

Branna took a shaky breath. She could still remember every detail of that night. Every one. What she was wearing. How the cider was warm because they forgot the ice. How the campfire smelled. What her boyfriend was saying to convince her to have sex.

“Then we heard Nattie scream. It wasn’t a sex scream. It was _pain_. She kept on screaming and it was getting louder. We both jumped up because we could hear her right near us. And then she came out of the wood--she came out--and she was …” Branna gasped, tears coming suddenly and hard. Sam reached out to her but she jerked away. If he touched her, she would lose it completely and she had to get it out. She had to tell it. She had to tell her story to someone who’d listen, who’d understand. “She was covered with blood. Like slathered. She reached out to us and her guts fell out of her body. Right onto the ground. I’d never seen anything like that before and I didn’t even react. Nothing, Sam. I just stared at the pile of guts then into my best friend’s screaming face, then at the guts, and I ran. God fucking help me, I ran right to the car and locked myself in. I wouldn’t even let my boyfriend in. He pulled and pulled on the door, yelling at me and I just sat there in the driver’s seat and covered my head and--”

Branna stopped. She couldn’t keep talking. She laid her forehead on the table. Sam watched her silently. He wondered how many people she’d told this story to.

“It was a black dog,” Branna said finally.

“Like a Grim?” Sam asked.

Branna turned her head slightly to look at him. “Exactly like a Grim.”

“What happened next?” Sam asked.

Branna felt Sam’s hand hover over her head. He wanted to touch her so badly, to connect with her anguish. If there was anything a Winchester understood, it was violent loss.

“It ripped them all apart while I sat in the front seat of my car and screamed at the top of my lungs.” Branna’s voice was so dead and matter-of-fact, it actually startled Sam. “It came over to the car. It was so big it could see right in the driver’s side window. And it looked at me, Sam. It looked at me. Right in the eyes. Then it tilted its head and I stopped screaming. We had this stare-down for about--it felt like an hour, but it was probably only 30 seconds--and then it just turned and walked away.”

“It left you?” Sam asked.

Branna glared at him witheringly. “Well obviously. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Sam couldn’t stop his laugh, despite the serious conversation and the sleeping husband in the room. Branna smiled a little too.

“What happened next?”

“I sat in the car all night. When the sun came up, I got out of the car, pulled the keys out of my boyfriend’s pocket, and drove to the closest village to report the deaths. I told them everything, the whole truth. And you know what they did? Do you?” Branna grabbed Sam’s wrist, squeezing it. “They said it was a wild animal or a rabid dog. I know what I saw, Sam. I know what killed them. And it sure as fuck wasn’t a _rabid dog_.”

Sam curled his hand over hers. The fury went out of Branna when she felt his touch. The utter relief from admitting everything to someone made her weak.

“I told everyone, Sam,” she went on quietly. “I told the police. I told my parents. I told their parents. I told my friends. They all thought I was mad. Some of them thought I killed them. There was an inquiry and the inquiry said it was an animal and that I was saved because I made it to the car. But I kept telling them about how the Grim looked me in the eyes and walked away.” Branna snorted. “After 8 months of constant telling, my parents had me committed.”

Sam nodded. “To a mental hospital.”

“No, to an Elizabeth Arden spa for a makeover. Yes to a mental hospital,” Branna snapped.

Branna reached into the cooler, which was empty minus the melted ice. “Fuck,” she cursed, shaking her hand off. When she looked up from her wet hand, her eyes met Sam’s.

He was gazing at her with the most comforting look ever on his face. His long hair fell over his forehead a little, his whiskey brown eyes warm and inviting. Branna reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind his ears.

“What’s with all this hair, anyway?” she whispered. “You look like a Pantene commercial.”

Sam’s skin tingled at her touch. How could she still have that effect on him? It’d been five years and a lot had happened over that span, but that didn’t seem to really matter. Branna and Sam’s eyes met. Instinctively, their fingers tightened around each other. The unmistakable need sprang up between them. Sam could remember the way Branna smelled, how her petite frame curved around him, the way she gave herself over completely to their passion. The back of Branna’s neck prickled at Sam’s touch. She wondered if his skin still felt and tasted the same, remembering how it was sweet and salty at the same time like caramel, and how his huge hand fit so well into the small of her back.

“Sam,” Branna murmured, her breath catching in the back of her throat.

“I know,” Sam murmured back, his fingers massaging hers intensely.

“We can’t … he’s right--right there …” Branna could barely think, let alone speak, thinking about Sam.

“I know.” Sam’s gaze flicked from Branna to her snoring husband for half a second before coming back to her. She was pink-cheeked and breathing shakily, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She blinked slowly, her long black lashes shadowing her cheeks. Sam thought no one had ever looked so gorgeous.

“You should go, Sam, before we do something we really, _really_ want to do, but will totally regret,” Branna said in a low voice.

“Are you flirting with me?” Sam teased.

Branna smiled, her tongue darting out to lick her top lip, before her teeth clamped down on her bottom one again.

_Fucking sexy_ , Sam’s brain could barely conjugate a whole thought.

“Always, dearest lad,” Branna replied, softly. She let go of his hand and the spell was broken. “Now get out of here. We need to work a plan of attack tomorrow.”

Sam, grateful for his long shirt for very obvious reasons, got up. Without thinking, Sam cupped the side of Branna’s face, running his fingers into her hair. Branna studied him with warm, lust-filled eyes. There didn’t need to be any words between them. For just this one moment, snark was suspended as Sam and Branna acknowledged the other for what they were: a beautiful human, tortured by their past, aching for love and acceptance.

And sex. Sex would’ve been nice too.


	4. Chapter 4

Branna got a swift shove to the shoulder blades. That was Rick’s usual way of waking her up. It didn’t used to be like that. In the beginning, when everything was fresh and new, Rick would kiss her between the shoulder blades, between her Celtic cross tattoos while trailing his fingers down her spine. Branna liked him then. They didn’t hunt together in the beginning, just drove around, hustling townies at pool for money. He was coarse and rude and abrupt, but what hunter wasn’t?

Aside from Sam, of course.

Branna rolled over, opening her eyes. Rick loomed above her, grinning. Branna groaned, knowing that smile all too well.

“Go away, Rick,” she said wearily. “I’m so not interested.”

Rick’s fell away immediately. “Why am I not surprised?”

Branna sat up. She was fully clothed since the idea of getting undressed after her beer-soaked confession session with Sam was mentally and physically exhausting. The last thing she wanted to do was endure 5 or 10 minutes of sweaty, grunting, and unsatisfying sex with her husband.

“You should be used to it by now,” Branna told him.

Rick stood there, waiting, his face slowly contorting with anger. “Is it because of your old boyfriend?”

“Jesus Christ. He’s not my old boyfriend--” Branna began, but stopped. There was no reason to fight with Rick when he got this incensed. “Fine. C’mon. Let’s just do it.”

Rick put on a wounded face. “I don’t want to if it’s going to be a _chore_.”

 _It’s always a fucking chore,_ Branna thought bitterly, but--knowing better than saying that out loud--she just smiled, “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. But we can, if you really want.”

Rick grinned again and climbed into bed with her. Branna closed her eyes and sighed, praying Sam wouldn’t hear anything.

Leaving Branna alone in bed, Rick headed into the bathroom to shower. Branna curled up on her side, feeling empty. There was nothing satisfying about what she and Rick had done. Rick pretended like he cared about how she felt, but it was all a pathetically acted ruse. Rick had stopped giving a shit about her feelings, emotionally or physically, years ago.

The first hunt that Branna had ever gone on with Rick was a werewolf job. Branna had found a few articles about bodies missing hearts and she started to get an itch. It had been about 5 months since she and Rick had gotten together and 5 months since she’d hunted.

“C’mon, Rick,” Branna urged. “Let’s do this thing.”

Rick lounged back on the motel bed. He was already getting a substantial stomach, but Branna figured it was due to all the drive thrus and lack of hunting. He sighed and scratched his chest.

“I dunno, Bran,” Rick replied.

He had this annoying habit of pronouncing her name like the fiber and not with a long A like she asked him to. Branna figured this was an American accent thing, but constantly remembered there had been another hunter that had always pronounced her name correctly, no matter the situation. In bed, during a hunt, while caring for her injuries … Branna shook her head and tried to focus on what Rick was saying next.

“A werewolf is so old,” he went on, not realizing Branna had stopped listening. “We should be looking for something bigger.”

“Yeah, I know, but we’ve never hunted together before,” Branna said. “We should start off slow and make sure we … work … good … as a--why are you glaring at me?”

Branna’s voice trailed off when she saw how angry Rick looked. He’d sat up on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees. The rage in his glare could have melted paint.

“You don’t think we’d make a good team?” he demanded. “Why not? Because I’m not a good hunter? Because you’re better than me? Because I’m not Sam Fucking Winchester?”

“I didn’t say a thing about Sam,” Branna stuttered.

“You didn’t have to,” Rick snapped. “Now, we’re doing this fucking hunt and I don’t want to hear shit about it.”

“Oh, so, this was all _your_ idea?” Branna asked.

“If you’re gonna be a bitch about it, you can stay here.”

“No!” Branna reached out and grabbed Rick’s arm. “Don’t leave me here. I’m so frigging bored.”

Rick smiled down at Branna’s hand, then back up at her face. “There’s my girl.”

The werewolf was hiding out in the woods. The fact that Branna had to hike into the woods to take down what in essence was a killer dog gave her pause. It was too close to her experience with the Grim, but this time, she wasn’t going to get anyone killed.

Next to her in the driver’s seat of her car, Rick loaded silver bullets into her best gun, then tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Branna furrowed her eyebrows. That was her gun, her favorite gun. That gun had taken out a few monsters and chased off more than a few rednecks. Why did Rick suddenly get to use it?

“Can I have my gun?” Branna asked.

“Why?”

“Because it’s my gun.”

Rick shrugged and motioned at the duffel bag on the back seat. “Use another one.”

“No, I won’t,” Branna replied. “That’s my favorite gun and I want it back.”

Rick got out of the car and started to walk away. Branna grabbed a random 9mm out of the bag and slammed bullets into it as she followed him into the woods.

There was no reason to stay mad at Rick. It was time to focus on the hunt. The worst thing you could be was distracted. Following the scratches on the tree line, Branna and Rick headed in the direction that the last hikers had taken before they were found slaughtered like lambs. The snap of a branch made Branna spin around. When she turned back around, Rick was gone.

“Fuck!” Branna hissed. “Rick? ... Rick!”

No answer, not a sound. Branna cursed a blue streak under her breath, then turned to head back to the car. She didn’t get very far before her skin began to crawl. Something was watching her. Something was hunting her.

“Goddamn it,” Branna muttered, cocking her gun.

There it was, but it was in its human form: a heavyset man with shaggy hair and covered with filth. He smiled ferociously.

“Hello, hunter,” he said, moving toward her.

Branna raised her gun and aimed.

“You gonna kill me?” he asked. “But I’m a person.”

“You stopped being a person,” Branna replied.

The werewolf drew himself up tall. He was still human and there was no full moon that night, so Branna knew he wasn’t going to wolf out on her. He was still bigger and stronger than she was, but it wasn’t something Branna hadn’t faced before. Branna smiled as she and the werewolf circled each other like dogs about to lunge. Oh, baby. This was gonna be fun.

A glint of steel caught Branna’s eyes. A knife slipped out of the werewolf’s sleeve and now he was armed. Branna smiled. That made this even better.

“A knife to a gun fight?” Branna asked. “You sure about that?”

“Sure,” the were replied and came at her.

Despite being in his human form, the were was still fast. Branna got off a shot before he reached her. She ducked as he swung his knife. Despite his speed, his knife skills were clumsy and his weight made him unsteady. Branna spun around behind him, kicking out his left knee. The were stumbled and Branna shot again, this time catching him in the shoulder. His yell echoed in the woods. Branna came around the front of him, aiming at his head, just out of his swinging reach.

“Just fucking shoot me,” the man said, spitting between his teeth. “Don’t play with me.”

“Who’s play--?” Branna began before red hot pain shot up her leg.

Gasping, Branna looked down and saw the were’s knife sticking out of her thigh at an awkward angle. Howling in distress, Branna pulled the trigger, shooting the werewolf through the heart. Once she knew he was dead, Branna hit the ground, cursing and screeching through clenched teeth.

“Branna? Branna!” Rick burst onto the scene. He skidded to a stop near her. “What happened?”

 _“Where were you?”_ Branna demanded.

“Didn’t you hear?” Rick asked as he helped her to her feet and they began limping back to the car. “I said we should split up. I thought we’d cover more ground.”

“Idiot!” Branna spit out between pants. “You _never_ split up! That’s how people _get hurt_!” She emphatically pointed at the switchblade in her leg.

Rick let go of Branna, who stumbled and nearly fell. “Maybe you should open your ears instead of your mouth.” Grabbing her back around the waist, Rick half-dragged her to the car. “Jesus Christ, you’re getting fat,” he bitched. “You need to go on a diet.”

Laying across the hood of the Cavalier, Branna submitted to Rick’s clumsy doctoring, biting down on her jacket to stop from screaming. He butchered the stitches in her thigh, which eventually led to an angry red scar and an ache that never quite went away. From that day on, Rick beat into Branna’s head that, if it wasn’t for him, she would have died at the hands of an unchanged werewolf. After a year of a near-constant barrage of his version of the story, Branna was convinced he was right and married him because she obviously couldn’t take care of herself without him anymore.

The only good thing that came out of that whole situation, Branna decided, laying in a motel bed three years later while Rick showered, was the beautiful blood red Camaro she had claimed from the werewolf.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam knocked on Branna and Rick’s door about 30 minutes later. He’d heard every unfortunate sound that Branna prayed he wouldn’t. No amount of blaring TV could drown it out. Funny thing was, he didn’t hear Branna until after all the unmistakable noises of quickie sex were over. Sam snickered to himself. Sounds like Rick was falling short in all departments, not just height.

A fleeting image of Branna in the depth of ecstasy flickered across Sam’s mind as the door opened. Branna was on the other side in jeans and a white man’s undershirt with bare feet. Her toenails were deep purple. She still had all those curves he remembered so well. Her hair was wet, leaving drip spots on the shoulders of her shirt. Branna looked up at him with those deep brown eyes filled with such intense sadness, Sam wanted to grab her up in his arms and hold her until she smiled.

“Hello, Sam,” she said quietly.

“Can I come in?” he asked, feeling huge and clumsy standing over her in the doorway.

Branna opened the door all the way, letting Sam into the messy room. Sam knew that this wasn’t Branna’s mess just by the volume of it. Plus, all the men’s clothes sort of gave it away.

“I have to leave the door open,” Branna said. “Rick went on a coffee run and if he comes back and you’re in here and the door’s shut …”

Branna’s voice trailed off as Sam stared at her. He took his chair from last night and straddled it backwards as Branna perched on the unmade bed. Branna didn’t think she’d ever seen anything sexier than a 6’4” giant swing his leg effortlessly over the back of a chair so he could sit down.

“Was that bit of aerobics really necessary?” she teased to cover up her hormonal reaction to Sam’s assault on the chair. “Very dramatic.”

Sam laughed ruefully, rubbing the side of his neck. Branna almost fainted at the sight of that.

“No, I guess not,” he admitted. “But sometimes it’s satisfying to be so dramatic.”

Branna and Sam stared at each other for a few seconds before they both cleared their throats at the same time, looking in opposite directions. Looking back at each other at the same time, then into their laps, then back at each other set off a rousing and slightly maniacal round of laughter.

“When did you become so awkward?” Sam asked Branna.

“I’ve always been so awkward,” Branna replied. “I just usually distract people with my breasts so they won’t notice.”

Sam laughed again. “That worked for Dean and me. Like that outfit you wore to the vila bar.” Sam shook his head, tossing long hair over his shoulder. “So hot. You still have those shoes?”

Branna’s smile faltered for a minute. “No. Ri--I got rid of them. Heels hurt.”

Sam was pretty sure those heels found their way into a trash can because they made Branna taller than Rick, but he didn’t say a word.

“So, uh, did you do any more research?” Sam asked.

Branna shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I exhausted every angle I could find on those vamps.” Branna paused a minute. “Are you sure you’re up for something as easy as vampires?” she asked next. “I mean, Leviathans, angels, demons, the Apocalypse. That’s more your’s and Dean’s speed now, right?”

Sam snapped his head up to stare at Branna. She leaned back on the bed a little, smirking and looking smug.

“How do you know about the Leviathans?” he asked.

“Oh, please, dearest lad,” Branna scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Do you think you were the only ones out there, trying to take on those fuckers? Honestly, Sam, you really do act like the world revolves around you sometimes.” Sam felt himself blushing as Branna let out a soft, throaty laugh. “The Winchesters aren’t the only hunters on the planet.”

“Damn right, you aren’t,” Rick’s voice chimed in from the doorway.

Branna sat up off the bed like she was shot of a cannon and suddenly found her toes really fascinating. Sam couldn’t believe the change in her demeanor just by Rick walking in the room. Glaring at the shorter man, Sam watched at Rick unpacked the breakfast bag.

“I didn’t know you were still here, man,” Rick said ambly. “I would’ve grabbed you something.”

“It’s fine,” Sam replied through his teeth. Didn’t know he was still here? Where the fuck was Sam supposed to go?

Branna got up to claim her coffee and one of the two bagels, but Rick pushed her hand away.

“I got you an apple, chubby,” Rick told her. “It’s in the bag.”

Branna flushed pink. “No thanks.”

“So, what’s going on with this hunt?” Rick asked between bites of bagel. “You nerds figure anything important out yet?”

Sam glared at Rick witheringly. “We nerds figured everything out.”

“Cool.” Rick didn’t seem to care very much, focusing on his bagels and the TV.

“Did you want to know anything about the nest? Branna’s theory?” Sam asked.

Rick shrugged, not taking his eyes from ESPN. “I’m sure whatever you two decided on is fine.”

“You’ll just ignore it and do whatever you want anyway,” Branna snapped.

“I’m gonna ignore that because you’re a bitch when you’re scared,” Rick told her.

“I’m not--you know what?” Branna asked no one in particular, then slammed her way into the bathroom.

“I hate when she frigging does that,” Rick commented to Sam, tossing the bagel wrapper on the floor.

Sam glared at Rick. “Why do you talk to her like that?”

“What?” Rick glanced over at Sam. The look at Sam’s face made Rick swallow hard. As quickly as he looked nervous, Rick immediately started posturing again. “What’re you talking about?”

“You talk to her like she’s some piece of crap,” Sam said angrily. “She’s a great hunter and a great person. Not only that, she’s your _wife_. Have some respect.”

“Respect? Respect?” Rick demanded, sitting up. “What’re you talking about, huh? You got no idea what kinda person she is. You spent what? Five days with her five years ago? And what happened? You killed some monster and banged her three times. You knew her for _five days_. What kinda girl fucks you when you've only known each other five days, huh? A slut, that's who. She pretty much banged any hunter who looked twice at her, from what I heard. And I still got together with her. And you know why I did that? Do ya, Sam? Because you and that your asshole brother--who I can't believe she didn't fuck either, honestly--left her in the hospital and took off.”

“She told me to go,” Sam argued. “It was safer that we left her. And don't you _dare_ call my brother an asshole.”

“Bullshit,” Rick snapped. “You left her. And guess who came along to clean up your mess? Me. I was the only thing keeping her from killing herself over you, you shit head.”

Sam paused, but his anger bubbled over. “I find that really hard to believe.”

“Do you?” Rick sneered. “Because you know her _so well_? Well, did you know--”

“Shut up, Rick!” Branna exclaimed, bursting out of the bathroom suddenly. She was red-eyed and panicked. “Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t he dare what?” Sam demanded. “What the hell is going on here?”

Branna's panic was palpable in the room. Rick grinned like a maniac. He was obviously really enjoying tormenting her.

"You don't want me to say anything, do ya?" he asked Branna, who clapped a hand over her mouth. "Fuck me. This is great."

Rick's stare bore right into Sam. Sam didn't flinch. There was no way this spiteful little man was going to intimidate him. When Rick realized that Sam wasn't going to break the glare, he glanced over at Branna, who was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"I should tell him, Branna," Rick said mockingly, putting on a soothing voice. "Don't you think he should know?"

Sam finally lost his temper. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room to where Rick was perched on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Rick by the front of the shirt and lifted him off the bed. Worry flashed over Rick's face, but then he peeked over at Branna.

 _"What do I need to know?"_ Sam demanded again.

Seeing Branna's obvious distress bolstered Rick's resolve. Peeling Sam's hands off his shirt, Rick dropped onto his feet and took a step or two back to look Sam in the face. Branna gasped, knowing what was coming next.

“Rick,” Branna pleaded helplessly at the same time Rick laughed, “You know she was pregnant, right?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are character actions and topics discussed below that some people may find disturbing. You have herein be forewarned.

For a split second, Sam was confused. Pregnant? What was this jerk off talking about? One glance at Branna made him realize what was happening here. Sam willed his face to stay impassive, but a fleeting look of understanding made Rick grin and Branna whimper.

“You were pregnant?” Sam asked her. “You were pregnant? You were pregnant when I left?”

Branna closed her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line to hold back her tears. She barely nodded in response.

Sam rubbed a quick hand over his face. “ _Pregnant?_ ”

“Saying it four times don’t change facts,” Rick chimed in, sounding gleeful.

“You know what?” Sam exclaimed, pivoting from Branna to Rick. “I am fucking _done_ with you.” With one giant hand, Sam sent Rick sprawling onto the bed. “You’re a worthless piece of shit. You don’t deserve her.” Sam pointed at Branna, whose face had gone from fear to hero worship to pride in seconds. “She’s worth 50--100--of you. Branna, get your shit. We’re out of here.”

“ _What?_ ” Branna gasped at the same time Rick demanded, “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me,” Sam said, grabbing his flannel off the back of his chair. “You’re not spending another second with this douche bag.”

“Sam--” Branna began.

“No!” Sam declared. “Damn it, Branna! You wanna stay with this guy? You wanna keep living like this?”

“And you can do better?” Rick asked.

“At least I’ll treat her like a human being and not a human punching bag.”

“I’ve never laid a hand on her!” Rick announced, getting up. He half-blocked Branna from making a move. “Not once.”

“You don’t think berating her and telling her that she’s worthless isn’t making her feel like a punching bag?” Sam asked.

“Are you seriously giving me a spousal abuse speech?” Rick laughed.

“Shut up,” Branna said finally. She pushed past Rick to the dresser and opened a drawer. Rick slammed the drawer closed, almost catching her fingers. Branna turned to him, her face red. Sam took a step toward them, then back again when he saw her glare.

With one fluid movement, Branna caught Rick in the cheek with a roundhouse punch. It staggered Rick back, but he recovered swiftly and went at Branna. Sam was on him in a minute, picking him up from behind and flinging him to the side. Rick was no contest for Sam’s power or height and the shorted man hesitated. Sam put himself between Rick and Branna, who was throwing everything she owned into a duffel bag.

“You gonna hit me, man?” Rick taunted Sam. “Really? You’re taking my wife and you’re the one who’s upset?”

“She isn’t your wife anymore,” Sam answered.

Behind him, Branna paused, glancing up at Sam in shock.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Rick asked.

“Just what I said,” Sam replied.

“You take her out of this room and I’ll report you kidnapped her,” Rick told Sam. “You think the cops won’t be wondering how Sam Winchester, who’s supposed to be dead, is suddenly snatching up women?”

Rick fumbled his phone out of his pocket and showed Sam a photo he’d snapped the night prior when Branna and Sam thought he was asleep. It showed Branna looking terrified while Sam glared menacingly at her. Taken out of context, it looked ominous, but Sam recognized it was when Branna was telling him that her parents had committed her to an asylum. He’d been so angry at their actions, he couldn’t hide his feelings.

“Look at that, Sammy,” Rick offered jovially. “She looks so scared. Don’t you, Branna? It’s like he was threatening you.”

“Rick, stop it,” Branna said weakly.

Sam looked over his shoulder at her. She looked so frustrated, so crushed. Sam reached behind him, making contact with her arm. Branna glanced up at him.

_I have to stay,_ her eyes said. _If I go, he’ll call the cops and then you’re fucked._

_I don’t care._ Sam shook his head.

Branna laid her hand softly over his and stepped out from behind his massive frame. She shook her head.

“But _I_ care,” she whispered.

Sam hardly had a chance to react to her words when he realized that he’d lost. Branna was going to stay and there was nothing he could do about it.

“One question. One question and then I’m gone,” Sam said.

“What?” Rick asked.

“Not you, dickhead,” Sam snapped. He turned to Branna, his whiskey brown eyes catching her chocolate ones. “What happened? What happened to the baby?”

Branna didn’t flinch. “I got rid of it.”

It was like a punch in the stomach. No reaction on the outside, but Sam felt his whole being collapse. Just the way she said it.

“It was the right thing to do,” Branna said next.

“Right …” Sam’s voice trailed off, trying to digest it.

“I’m a hunter, Sam,” Branna told him. Despite her cold demeanor, Sam saw her falling apart. “I couldn’t have a baby. How would I take care of it?”

“How did you even find out that quickly?” Sam asked.

“During my blood work before the surgery, they said they found faint traces of pregnancy hormone,” Branna replied. “It was still too soon to tell, but the doctor was sure I was pregnant. That’s why I didn’t say anything to you. I didn’t know for sure.” Sam stared at her. How was she holding this together when he was fucking dying inside? “If I had told you, Sam, would you have stayed? Stayed with a girl you barely knew who _may or may not_ _have_ been pregnant with your baby? What about Dean? You’d just abandon him? I find that hard to believe.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I guess … I guess you did the right thing for … for the time.”

“This has _got_ to suck for you, Sam,” Rick snickered under his breath.

It took all of Sam’s self-control not to shoot Rick. He wished they weren’t having this conversation in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Branna whispered.

Sam took Branna in his arms. God, how she was trembling.

“Hey!” Rick yelled.

Sam glared over Branna’s head, silencing Rick, and kept his arms around Branna. One hand rested in the small of her back while the other held the back of her head to his broad chest. Sam couldn’t believe how right it felt to have this girl in his arms again.

Branna clung to Sam. This was what she needed. She needed closure for her actions so long ago. Branna knew she’d made the right decision at the time. There was no way she could have a baby, not with her life, not alone. Branna listened to Sam’s heartbeat. It was solid and steady and firm; everything Sam was.

“I gotta go,” Sam said softly.

“Damn fucking right,” Rick grumbled from his pout at the table.

“Sam … please …” But Branna didn’t finish her sentence. Sam wasn’t going to stay and she couldn’t go. “All right,” she said finally.

Sam headed for the door. He turned one last time and took in the scene. Branna frozen to the floor, the dresser ransacked for clothes, her eyes full of agony, but her stance defiant and brave. She put her hands on her hips as he look at her, thrusting one hip out slightly. Her lips curled into a slow, sly smile, her tongue slipped out to lick the bottom one before catching it between her teeth. Branna raised her chin at him, arching one eyebrow. Christ, that girl was fucking torture. Sam left the room before he grabbed her around the waist and carried her out with him.

Every fiber in Branna’s being screamed for her to run after him, throw her arms around him, and let him rescue her. But she couldn’t. Branna stayed next to the half-packed duffel bag, knowing that letting Sam Winchester walk out of her life was still the safest and smartest thing she ever let him do. Twice now.

“So, it’s just us again, is it?” Rick asked. Branna didn’t turn to look at him, but kept staring at the closed door. Rick waited for her to answer. When he got no response, he tried again, “Wanna go after those vamps now, care bear?”

The sweetness in his voice made Branna turn. The smile she gave him was pure docility.

“That,” Branna said daintily, “is a wonderful idea.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little away from me. I'm sure the word count is ridiculous, but HEY! There's sex! Good sex. Rough sex. Dom!Sam sex. Just a little FYI for ya. ;)

It had been years since Sam hitchhiked. The Impala made it unnecessary and, even when the Impala was off-limits, there had always been a car. Sam strolled backwards along the quiet rural highway in Missouri. There hadn’t been a car for hours. When there had been, none of them stopped for him anyway. Sam couldn’t blame them: picking up a 6’4” stranger hitching on a deserted road was like the first five minutes of a horror movie.

Stopping to catch his breath, Sam crouched on the side of the road, leaning his back against the mile marker sign. Despite all the other things he could be thinking about (where he was, where he was heading, should he bury the hatchet and call Dean), Sam couldn’t stop thinking about Branna.

She had been pregnant--or pretty sure she was pregnant--when he left her in that Iowa hospital. She never said a word to him. She had insisted he leave. She had made the decision to let him go and take care of everything herself. Sam didn’t know how to handle the idea that there had been a bundle of cells existing for a really short period of time that was part him. And part Branna. Sam shook his head. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not gonna think about it. It was too much to absorb.

 _Just keep walking, Sam,_ he thought, getting up. _You’ll hit the next town and figure it out._

Sam reached Belle, MO just after dark. He was sweaty, exhausted, and just wanted to take a shower and fall into a bed.

“There a motel in town?” Sam asked the waitress who brought him his dinner.

The waitress, easily in her late 40s and probably hot when she was younger, tossed her hair, giggling. Sam waited wearily, staring up at her with a dead-eyed glare. When the waitress realized Sam wasn’t flirting with her but was ready to drop, she pointed him in the direction of the closest motel. The 17 minute walk between the diner and the motel took Sam over 30.

The debate between showering and sleeping had never been fought so hard then in Sam’s body when he finally closed the motel door and dropped his bag. He stumbled wearily into the room and collapsed across the bed. Sleep trumped shower and Sam was soon snoring noisily.

A ringing cell phone woke Sam out of a dead sleep. For a minute, he was confused with his surroundings, but the insistent ringtone cleared his befuddled head. Digging into his jeans pocket, he fumbled the phone before answering it.

“Dean? Hello? Is that you?” Sam asked blearily.

“Sam?” Branna’s voice asked.

“Branna?” Sam sat up like a shot. “How did you get this number? What time is it?”

“I picked your pocket,” Branna replied. “Sam, where are you? I need you.”

“What?” Sam’s not-awake brain couldn’t process her request.

“I need you,” Branna repeated, her voice rising in panic. “Where are you?”

“I’m in--I’m in--” Sam scrubbed his face with one hand. “I’m in Belle, MO.”

“I’ll be there in three hours,” Branna told him.

“Wait! Wait a minute!” Sam yelled. “What the hell’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.” Branna hung up.

“Jesus Christ.” Sam threw his phone on the bed. Three hours to wake up, shower, and get the hell out of there or three hours to wake up, shower, and wait to see what Branna needed.

Sam got to his feet, heading to the bathroom. Time to shower. Sam sighed. And wait. Time to shower and wait.

Branna made it to Sam in a little less than two hours. Sam heard the Camaro pull up but didn’t move out of the chair. He cocked his gun just in case what was coming through the door _wasn’t_ Branna. The seconds ticked by as Sam heard Branna’s feet approach the door. The doorknob jiggled and, since it wasn’t locked, it opened.

“Sam?” Branna asked hesitantly. A stream of holy water hit her face. “What the hell!”

“I had to check,” Sam said without getting up from his seat. He set the empty cup on the table next to him. “What are you doing here?”

“You gonna put that gun down?” Branna asked. She hadn’t moved out of the doorway. Her arms were out from her sides. She was obviously unarmed and obviously frightened.

“Nope,” Sam answered. “What happened?”

“Dearest lad, please,” Branna begged. “Put the gun down. I’m me. I swear it.”

Sam’s resolve wavered. Slowly, he uncocked the gun, setting it on the table, but not taking his hand off it. Branna dropped her bag, stepped closer to the table until she was next to the second chair.

“Now, what happened? Where’s Rick?” Sam asked.

Branna shrugged out of her jacket, letting it drop, and Sam was immediately on his feet. She was covered with gore. It was then that Sam noticed her hair was matted with blood. There was a smattering of something slimy across her face. Sam didn’t want to know what it had been before it dried.

“Oh, my god! What happened to you?” Sam demanded, coming around the table. He put his hands on her shoulders to look her right in the face. She was disgusting but whole. Her face was streaked clean from where tears had washed away the filth. “What happened to you? _Where is Rick?_ ”

“Rick’s dead.”

Sam felt his stomach contract. Dead? He was dead?

“How?”

Branna’s knees shook, but she pulled herself up tall to meet Sam’s anxious gaze. “We hit the vampire nest. He thought if we waited for when they came back from feeding that they would be slower. You know, because they were full?” Branna shook her head. “I said it was a terrible idea. I _told him_. I _told him_ to wait until morning. He wouldn’t listen to me at all. So, we go there and we wait. And they come back, all wired and hyper and jacked up on blood. They sniff us out and here comes the fight.” Branna’s legs gave out. Sam caught her before she hit the floor, pressing her to his chest, not caring about getting anything on his clothes. When she started talking again, Sam could sense the change in her demeanor. “I ganked two of the vamps right off. But Rick--Rick was having some problems. He’s a shit hunter. He could never finish the job. I always did everything in a hunt. All he did was show up and yell. So, I hear him shouting for help and I find him. Two more vamps are making a meal of him and he’s almost dead. I took them out. I took them all out.”

Sam’s heart stopped for a second. She took them all out? _All_ of them?

“Even Rick?” Sam asked quietly.

“Even Rick,” Branna replied evenly. Her voice was low and steady. The fear was gone. “He was going to turn. I ended him before he could.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam whispered, horrified, looking down at the small woman in his arms. “How did you know he would turn?”

Branna raised her chin and met Sam’s eyes. She blinked twice, slowly, as her lips pursed. Her right eyebrow arched. Her whole face screamed defiance.

“Because I knew,” was her simple answer. She stepped back, out of Sam’s embrace. “Can I take a shower?”

Sam nodded, waving at the bathroom door. Branna stripped her clothes as she walked, leaving a trail of blood-covered clothes in her wake like carnage. Pausing at the bathroom door, Branna turned to Sam. She looked peaceful, at ease.

“Thank you, dearest lad,” she whispered. “You’re a good man.”

Sam waited until he heard the shower start before sitting down on the bed. He was no one to pass judgement on anyone else’s behavior, but there was something about Branna’s story that made him pause. How would she knew Rick would turn? Was he that far gone when she found him? No one turns vampire that fast.

Sam was still trying not to think about what he should be thinking about when the water turned off. Branna appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, a skimpy towel wrapped around her body, barely covering all her curves. Holding the body towel with one hand, she dried her hair with another towel.

“Are you alright, Sam?” she asked.

“No,” Sam answered, his voice sharp. “How did you know Rick was going to vamp out?” He turned to face her and was caught off guard by her near-nakedness.

Branna knew immediately that Sam wanted to discuss, in great detail, the gory demise of Rick Meyer. To avoid this, she dropped her towel.

“Don’t think you can get out of this that easily,” Sam said, his resolve weakening a little. Branna cross the room to Sam and stood in front of him. She pushed his knees apart to stand between his legs. She flicked hair off Sam’s forehead, then leaned in for a kiss. Sam grabbed the tops of her arms and pushed her back.

“I don’t think so,” he told her.

Branna pouted. “That’s too bad, Sam. I can still do that thing you loved with my tongue.”

Branna’s voice purred. She was so clean and so fresh. Her body was so close and so curvy. Sam’s will broke.

“Get over here,” Sam growled. Yanking Branna to him, their lips met in a rough kiss.

Sam’s hands clutched her shoulder blades, pressing her against his flannel chest. Branna’s tongue fought Sam’s for dominance before Branna pulled her mouth away. Stripping Sam of his two shirts, Branna stopped, gasping at his body. It had been five years. There was more muscle and definition than before.

“Like what you see?” Sam asked, taking this chance to pull her back into his lap. He could feel the heat and wetness from her core against the rock hard bulge in his jeans.

“Fuck yes,” Branna panted. “Jesus Christ.”

“Grind on me,” Sam ordered.

“Against your jeans?”

“Do it!” Sam told her.

Branna rolled her hips on Sam’s lap. She moaned at the rough denim against her sensitive pussy. Sam loved that sound. He pulled her head back and scraped his teeth down her throat as Branna whimpered. Sam licked his lips and held Branna under her ass. Standing up, Sam felt Branna’s legs wrap around his waist. Kissing her again, Sam marvelled at the taste of her mouth, sweet and savory, like honey and lavender.

Kneeling Branna on the bed, Sam had her push off his jeans and boxers, freeing his thick erection. Without looking up, Branna swallowed his cock whole, running her tongue over the head and down the underside of it, making Sam moan. His fingers tangled in her wet hair as her head bobbed up and down the length of his sex. Just when Sam didn’t think he could hold out any more, he pulled Branna’s mouth off, picked her back up, and thrust deep inside her.

God, she was so fucking tight and wet. Sam almost lost control inside that slickness and he slammed her up against the wall. Branna flung her head back and moved her hips against him, her nails digging gouges his back.

“More! Sam, oh god, _more_!” she panted.

He pounded into her again and again, slamming her into the wall, making both of them moan.

Branna was meeting his rhythm, using the muscles in her thighs and hips to pull him against her. Sam wrapped one arm underneath her ass and snaked the other hand in between them to rub her clit.

Branna made an inhuman sound at his touch, making Sam grin smugly at the sound.

“Tell me!” he barked gruffly. “Say it!”

Branna panted out the words he needed to hear. The words that made Sam batter her pussy with more force, making him determined to push her over the edge.

“Sam …” Branna’s voice was husky. “Now … Please … _Do it_ ... _Now_!’

Branna flung her head back and Sam rubbed his fingers against her clit as his hips ground into her and dropped his head down to suck on her nipple. He flicked her clit one more time and then she came, writhing on his cock, screaming his name, as she soaked them both.

Sam paused thrusting long enough to drop them both onto the bed. Branna flipped over, crawling to the head of the bed. Branna gave Sam a look over her shoulder so dirty, that Sam had to bite his lips to keep from coming right then. She got onto her knees and bunched a pillow underneath her to steady herself.

“Come on, Sam,” Branna purred. “Take it.”

In a second, Sam was behind her, his body flush against hers, his knee pushing her legs apart. He gripped her hips in his large hands hard enough to leave bruises and buried his cock into the intense hot wetness that was Branna’s sex. Sam pulled out until only the very tip of his cock was inside her, hesitated, then drove his pelvis forward, jerking Branna back against him. Branna shrieked at the sensation, curving her back down so her belly touched the blanket, which raised her hips and ass higher into the air. The change in angle threw off Sam’s rhythm for a second, making his groan.

“Fuck me!” he burst out, wanting to last, but knew he wouldn’t be able to, not with how good Branna felt on his dick. Sam settled for plowing her as hard as he could, feeling her body clench every time he thrust.

Sam was so close, his body was shaking as he tried to control it so Branna could come again. Reaching under her, his fingers found her clit again, hearing her gasping and panting turn to guttural moans at his touch. She knelt up so her back was flush against his chest. Her arms reached back and grasped his hips, spurring him on

“Faster, Sam, faster!” Branna urged. “Almost there.”

Sam plunged into her, feeling her pussy clench around him. Branna let out a stream of obscenities as she came again.

“Branna! Holy fuck!” Sam rasped out as he finally came.

They collapsed onto the mattress then, Sam falling to the side so he wouldn’t land on her. For a long time neither of them moved, then Sam rolled onto his side to face her. Tapping her shoulder blade with one finger prompted Branna to roll over to face Sam. Leaning up on his elbow, Sam looked down at her.

“I have to ask you something,” Sam said.

“Intriguing,” Branna commented, smiling her after-sex Cheshire Cat grin.

“Did you kill Rick because he was going to vamp out or because he was a horrible person?”

Branna considered Sam for a long time before answering. Propping herself up on both elbows, Branna craned her neck to kiss Sam lingeringly on the mouth.

“I’ll never tell,” she murmured against his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just hate when my characters have sex without letting me know that they're going to do it first. I really should talk to them about controlling themselves in the next chapter. ;)

Branna woke the next morning and kept her eyes closed. The last thing she needed was Rick knowing she was awake.

“I know you’re awake,” a male voice--not Rick’s--said quietly.

Branna popped her eyes open. Sam Winchester looked down at her. He was sitting up against the headboard, the sheet puddled around his waist, one incredibly long and muscular leg slung out from under the covers. He was half-awake himself, but man, he was so gorgeous.

“Morning,” Branna offered.

“It’s definitely morning,” Sam replied.

Branna propped herself up on her elbows, drinking in the man next to her. She shook her head.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Just … damn,” Branna said. “You’re so ripply now. You’re like a superhero. Is there a pair of tights and a cape hidden somewhere I should be aware of?” Sam laughed as Branna went on, “Or, like, a really evil arch nemesis? Wait. You’re a Winchester. The whole world is your arch nemesis.”

Sam’s cell phone ringing was barely noticeable as Sam shoved Branna’s shoulder. She flopped back down on her back as she giggled and he reached for his phone. The name on the screen made him pause.

“Dean,” he said softly.

“ _Dean_?” Branna gasped incredulously. “How?”

But Sam was already answering the phone. “Dean?” he asked.

“The fuck?” Branna asked.

“No, Dean,” Sam said into the phone, ignoring Branna. “You can’t just … just apologize and think everything’s--wait, you’re apologizing? You don’t do that. Is Bobby putting you up to this?” Sam paused, listening, turning away from Branna.

Branna was stunned. Dean was alive? How is that possible? Didn’t Sam say he was dead?

_No, no, wait. Sam didn’t say anything,_ Branna reminded herself. _You just assumed he was dead because Sam hasn’t talked about him._

“Where am I?” Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder at Branna.

Branna barked out a bitter laugh. “In bed with me!” she yelled. “Hey, Dean!”

“Who’s that?” Sam asked, sounding nervous. “Uh … it’s Branna Hayes. Remember--yeah. Yeah. The English girl. With the rack ... Jesus, Dean, really?”

Branna got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She had to pee and she really didn’t need to hear the rest of their conversation. She ached all over from her battle with the vamps the night before ( _Christ, was that just last night?_ she thought.). Staring at herself in the mirror, Branna examined her skin for bruises and bites. She knew that none of the vamps had a chance to clamp down on her and--aside from having to kill her husband--the hunt hadn’t been that strenuous.

Sam’s voice got louder outside the door. Branna leaned over to listen.

“No, Dean! No!” he shouted. “You didn’t have to kill her!”

( _what?_ )

Sam paused, then sighed in defeat. “I’m in Belle, MO,” he said finally. “No, I don’t know what I’m doing here either … Fine. See ya then.”

Dead silence as Branna pressed her ear against the bathroom door. She heard Sam start to pace around the room.

“Are you listening at the door?” Sam’s voice was suddenly very close.

Branna jumped backwards. “No! I can’t hear a thing through this incredibly heavy door.”

“Very funny.” Sam jiggled the knob. “I’m coming in.”

“Wait!” Branna grabbed for a towel but Sam caught her wrapping it around herself.

“Seriously?” he asked witheringly. “You know I’ve seen you naked, right?”

“Sex is different,” Branna replied. “Standing still and upright can be embarrassing. Laying down on your back is so much more flattering.”

Sam shook his head as he started the shower. “Girls amaze me.”

Branna eyed Sam up. “Your ass amazes me.”

Sam turned to her. His brown eyes glinted in the dull bathroom light. He pulled Branna’s towel off as she backed away, playfully batting at his hands.

“Sam Winchester, you naughty man,” she warned, giggling. “You stop that right now.”

“Oh,” Sam gathered her into his arms, lifting her up to sit on the cold porcelain of the sink, “I don’t think so, Branna Hayes.”

Branna shivered as Sam ran his hands over her naked skin. “Sam, c’mon …”

“What?” Sam asked, his lips moving against the side of her neck. “You got somewhere to go?”

“God, no.”

“Then shhhhh and kiss me,” Sam requested.

Their lips met softly, sweetly. This was a Sam Branna didn’t know. Branna’s legs wrapped around Sam’s thighs, feeling his growing erection against her. Their kiss kept going as Sam ran his fingertips over her back, down her spine, and up her belly to the swell of her breasts. Sam’s rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, making Branna moan into his mouth.

Pulling her lips from his, Branna leaned back against the sink, the faucet digging painfully into the small of her back, but she didn’t care. Sam twisted her nipples between his fingers, gently at first then harder, making her groan louder. One of his large hands slipped between her legs to tease her clit.

“Sam. Oh, Sam,” Branna breathed. “Don’t stop, love.”

Sam rolled two fingers in a circle over her clit as he suckled on her breasts. Branna could feel her core tightening at Sam’s touch and she moved her hips against his fingers. She started to cry out as her orgasm built. Sam’s fingers moved faster.

“Scream for me, Branna,” he whispered against the hot skin between her breasts.

Branna flung her head back, slamming it against the mirror, and arched her back as she came. Sam’s fingers kept moving and she came again, quickly and just as hard. Branna clutched the sides of the sink to steady herself as she moaned again.

“Sam! Jesus fuck!” she exclaimed, her legs trembling. She wrapped her legs around his thighs tighter, pulling him closer to her. She could feel his rigid cock against her belly now. With one, sweaty-palmed hand, Branna worked the shaft of his dick, thumbing the pre-cum off the head to suck it off her finger.

Sam smiled at her, his lips curling wickedly. He removed her hand from his cock, clamping it to the side of the sink again.

“Hold on,” he warned her. Clasping Branna’s hip in one hand, Sam used the other hand to guide his stiff dick into her soaked pussy. Branna lifted her hips off the sink to meet the length of him, moaning at the feel of him inside her.

He moved slowly at first, with long, even strokes, enjoying the way it felt to pull out so far just to plunge back into her as deep as possible. Branna cried out with every thrust. Her noises prompted Sam to move faster. He wrapped both arms around her, crushing her against his hard chest and pounded.

“Oh, Sam. Oh, Sam. _Oh, Sam_!” Branna bit down hard on his chest as she came again. Sam let out a cry, yanking her head back to kiss her. That was going to leave a mark.

“Branna!” he growled and came deep inside her.

Sam let Branna’s hair go, her head lolling back on her neck like she fainted. Sam admired her like that, her face red with exertion, skin slick with sweat, her pussy throbbing around his cock, breathing hard, a smug little smirk on her full lips. Branna opened her heavy-lidded eyes, looking up at Sam with a wet, satiated gaze.

“God above, Sam Winchester,” she murmured.

Sam arched one eyebrow, trying to look modest but failing miserably. “Yeah. I know.”

Branna slapped his flat stomach, then ran her fingers over the ridges of his abs. Her eyes closed briefly, but not before Sam saw her eyes rolled back a little like she was getting turned on again.

“I bet that water is ice cold now,” Branna commented next.

Sam laughed. “I forgot that was even on.”

They untangled themselves and Sam turned the water in the shower off. Branna arched her back, rubbing the small of it, knowing a bruise was going to form there from being repeatedly slammed against the faucet.

“So, no hot water,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Dean won’t be here for hours. What to do? What … to … _do_ … ?”

Sam glanced at her as Branna covered up her laughter by tapping her finger against her lip while pretending to think.

“Get over here, you little brat.” Sam grabbed at her but Branna darted away, laughing, and dove onto the bed again. Sam joined her.

And their day passed quite nicely, in fact.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. Next to him, Branna dozed with a little smile on her face. Outside, the sun was setting, making the whole shitty motel room glow in reds and golds. Sam almost reached for his phone to call Dean to find out where he was, but hesitated. Once Dean arrived, it was going to be time to take off again. Sam had no doubts that he was leaving with Dean, despite Dean’s actions with Amy. And leaving with Dean meant leaving Branna. Again.

Sam sighed. There was no easy way to leave her. At least this time she wasn’t laying in a hospital bed. Pregnant. Laying in a hospital bed, spleenless and pregnant.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, getting up. Branna rolled over on her belly, sighing a little, but didn’t wake. Sam headed for the bathroom, locking the door after him. Looking in the mirror, Sam splashed cold water on his face. His chest bore a wicked bite mark, but otherwise, he was whole. Sam smiled a little. If nothing else, Branna was passionate.

Knowing he couldn’t ignore it anymore, Sam sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he exhaled. Okay. Pregnant. If he’d never found out about that, he’d be perfectly happy. He’d be perfectly content to live his whole life without knowing that a girl he’d gone to bed with had been pregnant with his child, no matter how short the time was. Fuck. This was just another way to torture himself.

Even if she’d told him, he wouldn’t have … or would he have … Sam shook his head. There was no way to speculate what he would have done. He was so young and there had been so much going on 5 years ago with Azazel and trying to find a way to gank him and learning about the other psychic children. Sam opened his eyes and looked at his reflection again. Yeah, there was no way he would have wanted a kid of his own in this world. Or would he?

“Fuck this,” Sam snapped. He started the shower, intent on washing away his confusion.

Branna was still sleeping when Sam came back into the room. She looked so peaceful, lying there. The sheet was tangled around her body, outlining her curves. There was something so appealing about the way she slept, taking over the whole bed, all the covers and pillows. Sam smiled a little. She was pretty amazing. His body reacted a little to the silhouette of her breasts under the sheet, but Sam knew that there was no way he could climb back into bed and start up another round of sex. He was exhausted and, since Branna hadn’t moved an inch as he started to move around the room and get dressed, it was pretty obvious she was beat too.

The sudden ringing of a cell phone broke the silence of the room. Sam could tell by the ringtone that it wasn’t his. Branna stirred, rubbing her eyes. When she heard the ringing, she sat up like a shot, gasping.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“That’s Rick’s ring,” Branna replied, scrabbling in her discarded clothes for her phone. Pulling the blood-splattered mobile out, Branna hesitated for a half second before answering it, “Hello?”

Sam watched as all the color drained from Branna’s face. He immediately went to her but she squirmed away from him on the bed. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger as her face grew whiter and whiter. Sam was sure she was going to faint.

Squinting, Sam strained to listen to the voice on the other end. It couldn’t be Rick; Branna had taken his head. The voice was definitely male.

“You can’t scare me,” Branna scoffed suddenly. “If you want to spend your entire afterlife tracking me down, go right ahead.”

Branna hung up the phone with an indignant stab of the end button, but Sam saw her hands were shaking.

“What the hell?” he asked.

Branna got out of bed. Her face was ghostly white, which made dark circles stand out around her eyes. She glanced at Sam briefly before gathering up what clean clothes she had in her duffel bag.

“Branna, who was that?” Sam demanded.

Branna cleared her throat before turning to Sam with a tee shirt and jeans clutched to her belly.

“It was the father of the vamp nest,” Branna replied. “He came home to find his kids slaughtered and now he’s after me. Me. Can you believe it?” Branna shrugged, trying to look tough, but Sam could see right through her bravado. “I need to shower. I’m covered with you.”

Branna tipped Sam a sexy wink before locking the bathroom door after her.

Sam sat stunned for a minute before exclaiming “ _WHAT_?!” and heading to the bathroom door. He banged on it. “Damn it, Branna! Open this frigging door!”

Branna swung the door open. “Did you need something?”  
  
“What the hell? A vampire calls you on the phone and threatens your life and you … what? _Go take a shower_?” Sam could barely contain his rage. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“I’m a hunter, Sam, and I was threatened by a monster,” Branna said easily. “It comes with the job.”

Sam stood there, staring at Branna. The only other person who could be so calm about being threatened by a monster was Dean. Jesus, where the hell was Dean? He should have been there by now.

Branna looked at Sam expectantly. “Was there anything else or can I shower before we run out of hot water?”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam said clumsily.

“In the shower? Did you plan on coming in with me?” Branna smirked and turned away to get into the shower.

Sam stalked away, leaving Branna to splash around in the water. Dialing Dean’s mobile, Sam walked outside to make the call.

“Fucking voice mail,” Sam grumbled. “Dean, it’s Sam. Where the fuck are you? I swear to god, if you’re hooking up with some waitress, I’m gonna kick your ass. The vampire is after Branna and I need you here--” Dean’s voice mail cut Sam off. “Goddamn it!”

“Do you really think you need to call Dean for help?” Branna asked from the doorway. She was wearing one of his tee shirts and not much else. “I’m pretty sure I can handle this myself.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt to have another set of hands,” Sam replied.

Branna leaned against the door frame. “Another set of hands besides mine?”

“Another set of of hands besides _ours_ ,” Sam corrected her.

Branna shook her head. “Not _ours_ , dearest lad. _Mine_. There’s no way I’m letting you get involved in something so simple. You’re destined for greater things.”

“Why would you say that?” Sam asked. “You psychic all of a sudden?”

Branna snorted. “Please. You’re a Winchester. You and Dean are saddled with glorious looks and equally glorious purpose. No reason to chase a vampire around a hick town. That’s so five years ago for you.”

“Can’t you ever be serious?” Sam demanded.

“Never.”

Growling, Sam pressed his phone against his forehead in a burst of anger. Branna came out into the fading light of day and put her arms around Sam’s waist. Hesitatingly, Sam put her arms around her.

“This is my fight,” she said. “I brought this on myself. I should have known better and I need to clean up my mistake. I can’t let you come with me.”

“When are you going?” Sam asked.

“Soon. In five minutes. Now.” Branna smirked up at Sam. “I mean, after I put on some pants.”

Less than 10 minutes later, Branna was throwing her clothes on while Sam watched her, feeling helpless. Helpless looked bad on Sam. Branna tried not to make eye contact with him, but man, those puppy dog eyes were killing her, boring into her back while she pulled a Bowie knife out of her weapons cache. Standing up, she tucked the knife into her belt, refusing to turn around to meet Sam’s eyes.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Don’t,” Sam replied immediately.

“I have to meet him, face to face,” Branna said.

“Then turn around and face _me_ , Branna.”

Branna shook her head as she gathered her meager belongings, keeping her back to the handsome man. “I’m sorry, dearest lad.”

“Damn it, Branna--” Sam came across the room at her.

“No!” Branna exclaimed, jumping forward a few steps, her hands up in the air. “Don’t touch me. I’ll lose my nerve if you touch me.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam stopped in his tracks, then--for a half second--considered grabbing her up in his arms to stop her from walking out the door. But he knew if that happened, Branna would never forgive him. But Sam also knew if he let her walk out that door, Branna might be gone forever.

Holding himself back, Sam watched as Branna walked to the door. Her duffel was slung over her shoulder. Her step was sure and steady. Branna’s hand hit the doorknob and Sam’s whole body jerked forward to stop her. It took all his strength not to follow her.

Suddenly Branna turned back. Her eyes met his and she smiled softly.

“You know how you’re feeling right now? Watching me leave?” she asked quietly.

Sam barely nodded. Branna’s smile curled, teasingly.

“That’s how I felt when you left me in the hospital,” she told him. Her voice was incredibly sad, like her heart was breaking. “It’s a terrible feeling. Like your chest being ripped open.”

Sam swallowed. “I know it. I felt the same way. Leaving you there.”

“I love you, dearest lad,” Branna whispered. “And I don’t say that a lot. Be safe out there, Sam Winchester.”

The door closed behind her as tears tried to escape Sam’s eyes.  
  
“You too, Branna Hayes,” he said to the empty room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final chapter. I know it took me a long time to post it, but I had a terrible time deciding exactly how to draw Sam and Branna's adventure to a close.  
> Hope you enjoyed this and thank you so much for reading!

Branna followed the vampire’s directions. The “copse of trees on the edge of town” turned out to be a pretty dense amount of woods. The “little pond in the middle” where they were to meet was probably going to be some giant fucking lake big enough to hold a Kraken. Branna got out of her car. She was armed to the teeth and didn’t care if the vamp saw it or not.

Parking so close to two houses made Branna incredibly nervous. She didn’t need this confrontation to be happened upon by two civilians taking a romantic nighttime stroll. Branna’s fears were put to rest by the lack of lights in the two homes. Branna checked her phone. 10.30pm. Shaking her head ruefully as she tucked her phone into the inside pocket of her jacket and patted herself down to re-locate her stash of weapons, Branna couldn’t remember the last time she was in bed and asleep at 10.30. In bed? Yes, with Sam. Asleep? Definitely not.

Holding her flashlight low, Branna followed a well-kept path to the pond. Her heart raced in her chest. There was a fight coming and she was so, so ready for it. There was no way Branna was going to let her whole life be dictated by some monster. Getting stalked by some low-life bloodsucker was not in her wheelhouse.

Over the years, Branna had faced a myriad of monsters, alone and with partners. The vampires, werewolf, and vila, of course, but there was a siren, more ghosts than she cared to count, and can we not even talk about the amount of demons? Seriously. It was disturbing.

Branna almost started giggling to herself when she realized that she was most assuredly not alone. Standing about 40 feet from her was a wizened and elderly man. There was no reason for a solitary old person to be waiting in the dark in the woods next to a “pond” (which was definitely a lake) way past their bedtime.

Still holding her flashlight, Branna turned to beam to the man’s face. His eyes flashed white at her in the light. Gripping her Bowie knife, Branna side-walked closer to him, keeping her body turned sideways. There was no way she was letting a vampire come at her full-on.

“You wanted to see me?” Branna asked.

The vamp didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t even move. He just kept staring at her with those glowing eyes.

“C’mon, man,” Branna said. “You didn’t have me hike all the way out here for a staring contest.”

“No,” the vampire replied.

“You’re not him,” Branna whispered. She held the Bowie knife tighter, feeling a cold sweat break out all over her body. “That’s not the voice.” Keeping her voice under control, Branna flipped her knife in her hand a few times to get a better feel of its weight, calling out, “Where’s your father, newborn?”

The old man vampire cocked its head to one side like a cocker spaniel. “Father?”

“The vamp that turned you--” Branna cut herself off. “Never mind.” She blinked as another vampire appeared next to the old man. This one was young and male and grinning broadly. “Oh, fuck me standing.”

“You killed my nest,” the younger-looking vampire said.

“You killed humans,” Branna replied. Her senses were on high alert. If it was just these two, she might be able to take them on. If there were more, well …

“We needed to drink,” the young vampire said.

“You can take without killing,” Branna snapped. _God, shut up, shut up, shut up!_ she thought furiously, trying desperately to listen for approaching newborns.

The old man vampires fangs had slid out of their sheaths. He was trembling with hunger. Branna could tell he hadn’t fed yet that night or even at all. The younger man barely moved but the old man sprang forward.

“Oh, shit!” Branna screeched and dove to the side. She didn’t hit the ground, but she did stumble.

“Get her!” the younger man yelled, enjoying the bloodsport. “Go on! Do it!”

The old man, not yet used to his vampire body and ravenous for a taste of her, stutter-stepped to get closer to Branna. Branna spun away, swinging her Bowie broadly. A howl told her that she’d hit pay dirt. Clutching the flashlight and swinging it wildly, Branna caught the vampire coming toward her again. There was no time for her syringe of dead man’s blood, so she swiped the air with her knife again, catching the vampire on its out-stretched arms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Branna swore. The only thing saving her from being vampire dinner was the fact the newborn was still so clumsy and ungainly, like an elderly human still. He must have only been a few hours old.

The elderly man stumbled over a root and Branna struck, slicing off his head with her razor-sharp Bowie knife. Barely catching her breath, Branna felt a woosh of wind around her and a red hot pain in her stomach. Looking down, she saw her shirt covered with blood. Before she could react, Branna’s back exploded in fire and pain. The vampire father was toying with her, slicing her open bit by bit, making her pay.

Steeling her shoulders, Branna dropped her knife, reached into her jacket, and pulled out the syringe of dead man’s blood.

“Let’s dance, fucker,” she growled at the vampire crouching a few feet from her.

Sam’s cell phone rang. He grabbed at it, saw it was Branna’s name, and punched the button immediately.

“Branna? Branna? Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

“Hello, Sam,” she said softly.

“Branna, where are you?” Sam demanded.

“Oh, I’m in the woods,” Branna replied. Her voice was hushed and weak. She sounded like she was a million miles away.

“I’m there too,” Sam told her. “I figured that was where he was going to lure you. Where are you? I can find you. Just give me an idea of what’s around you.”

“No,” Branna said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She sounded tired. Sam didn’t doubt she was tired and probably wounded after battling a vampire, but some reason, she sounded wrong and … lost.

“What do you mean ‘Don’t bother’?” Sam asked as he walked. He’d missed the path to the lake and was heading in the opposite direction from where Branna was.

“Well, by the time you get here, dearest lad, I’ll be gone.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean dead?” He didn’t stop walking, sweeping his flashlight back and forth along the ground, looking for his injured lover.

“Yes,” Branna answered lightly. “I’m minced meat, my love. There’s no way I’m going to survive this.”

“Where are you?” Sam asked frantically. “I need to find you.”

“Oh, I’m a little over here and I’m a little over there,” Branna joked in a singsong-y voice.

Sam stomach clenched at her words. He could just imagine what she meant by “a little over here and a little over there.”

“How bad is it?” he asked. His search was proving fruitless; his anger growing with every passing minute. Why couldn’t he find her?

“Oh, it’s pretty retched,” Branna said. “Don’t really want to talk about how bad it is.”

The singsong voice didn’t stop. It was almost like Branna was trying to make Sam laugh about the whole situation. But Sam wasn’t laughing.

“Dearest lad, I have to ask,” Branna said next as Sam turned himself around and backtracked down the path. “Do you forgive me?”

Sam almost stopped walking. “Forgive you for what?”

“For the abortion,” Branna said simply.

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He moved the phone away from his ear, sighing to release the tension in his chest. The exhalation of air shook his whole body. When he put the phone back to his ear, Sam could swear he heard Branna chuckling.

“I heard you sigh,” she said. “Does that mean you can’t forgive me?”

Sam paused, his mouth opening and closing a few times before answering, “I … I can’t forgive you for something I didn’t know had happened. You made the decision that needed to be made.”

“What a lovely, diplomatic answer,” Branna teased weakly. “You know what’s ironic?” she asked next. “I’m going to die in the woods, ripped to shreds by a monster.” Branna swallowed hard, letting out a grunt as she did. Sam picked up his pace, heading toward what he thought was a path. “Isn’t that funny, Sam? If only this had happened 10 years ago, yeah?” Branna’s voice had taken on an ethereal tone. “Dying on my back in the woods, looking up at trees.” Branna’s breath caught in her throat. “Wouldn’t everyone in my life before laugh at me?”

Branna’s voice finally trailed off. Sam’s feet hit a well-maintained path and he started to run. He didn’t want her voice to trail off. Not yet. Not when he was so close. He knew what that meant.

“Branna? You still there?” he demanded as he ran.

“Just barely,” Branna choked out.

Sam didn’t know how much more Branna was going to be able to hear. In the gloom ahead of him, Sam could barely make out the dull gleam of a flashlight.

“I’m almost there!” he shouted into the night. “I’m almost there,” he repeated into the phone. Taking a deep breath, Sam knew professing his love to her would cheapen the last few moments of Branna’s life, but he could say something relatively the same.

“It was an honor to know you, to hunt with you, to sleep with you.” Sam almost chucked at his own audacity. “It was an honor and I’ll never forget you.”

“Oh, my darling Sam, you have no idea how much you’ve changed my life,” Branna confessed. Then she giggled.

Branna’s soft giggle confused Sam. He’d never heard anyone giggle while dying before. Of course, most deaths he’d witnessed were loud and gore and full of unmitigated violence.

“I’m gonna go now,” Branna whispered. She cleared her throat, which took all of her effort. “Give me a hunter’s burial, Sam. Salt and burn me. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Sam’s heart broke at that statement, but he kept running. The glow of the flashlight was getting closer. Just another minute and he’d be there … he’d be there to hold her as she went.  Branna breathed into the phone. She wasn’t gone yet, but there wasn’t going to be any more talking.

Sam reached the clearing that Branna fought and died in just minutes after she was gone. Skidding to his knees on the gore-soaked ground, Sam cradled the mutilated girl to his chest. Unrestrained tears rolled down his face, landing on her bloody face.

“I’m gonna give you the best hunter’s burial ever,” he promised through his tears. “I’m gonna light up the fucking sky with the flames. Everybody’s gonna know something huge happened here tonight.”

Sam held Branna against his body for a long time before he stood up and dug her a grave with his bare hands. Laying her gently in the grave, he brushed her hair off her face and placed her Bowie knife on her chest before folding her hands over it. Tucking his flannel shirt around her body gave a sense of finality to the niceties of the ritual. No normal person actually carries salt on them, but he did have a lighter. Dropping the lit Zippo on her, Sam turned away from the pyre to deal with the two dead vampires. With no kindness and no ritual, Sam threw them into a hole and covered them with dirt. No need to burn them: they were both headless. Nothing comes back from that.

Sam sat a few feet away from the grave where his lover’s shredded body smoldered until the sun started to rise. Standing up, Sam filled Branna’s grave with dirt and patted it flat. He pressed his fist against his mouth to choke back any noises that tried to escape before turning and leaving the woods for good. Climbing into Branna’s car for the last time, Sam drove, grimly and stone-faced, back to the motel.

It wasn’t until he was unloading the weapon-strewn trunk of Branna’s Camaro that Sam heard the familiar roar of the Impala coming up the road behind him.


End file.
